Your Soul, My Beats: An Accidental Remix
by AliceUnderSkies13
Summary: One day, Mikuo decides to jump off a building, only to hear a familiar voice singing inside his head. An IAxMikuo one shot. Please R&R.


Your Soul, My Beats: An Accidental Remix

Mikuo leaned back in the sunlight, his eyes staring up at the sky. He blinked, stray raindrops descending from the blue clouds and slipping between his eyelashes. From the top of the apartment complex, he could see the whole city, every glistening skyscraper and dilapidated motel, every speeding car, motorcycle, every person floating through the streets, living and talking like a million voices on the radio. Up here, he was at peace, away from his mundane job and HER.

He sighed, his left arm coming around behind his back, his hand supporting his weight. Mikuo's head fell back on his neck, his right hand coming to his mouth, a cigarette glowing between his index and middle finger. Inhaling the sweet smoke, gazing up at the never-ending blue sky, he just wanted to dive into its eternal depths and drown in a sea of eternity. Summer skies of undying dawn, a sunlit world of dripping watercolors and whispered songs. He was entranced by its beauty and perpetual relevance, the pretense of its existence as apparent as the sun. The city looked so fragile, as if it would all fall apart and shatter like glass; he didn't dare try to touch it. He felt the cigarette between his lips and furrowed his brow. He knew that he really should quit, she hated it when he smoked, but there was something about it.

Tasting the sharp tobacco, as obvious as the still air surrounding him, rolling his tongue over the sodden paper and feeling it sag down upon his teeth, all of it seemed so illusory. He closed his blue eyes and sighed, the cigarette falling from his lips. Clouds drifted by, their dark shadows engulfing his body. Paper clouds of the purest white hovered over Mikuo's form. Ripped and torn at the seams, they let blue raindrops descend upon the city. A stray drop slipped between his eyelashes, and he blinked. The black pupils widened beneath the eyelids and he opened them again.

His phone was vibrating in his back pocket. _I'll just let it go to voicemail_, he thought, but the obnoxious seizures echoed endlessly.

"Way to ruin a good moment!" he growled, ripping out the phone. "What do you want?"

There was a moment of silence on the under end, then, "Well, that was rude, Mikuo."

He groaned and ran a hand down his face. "Sorry, sorry, I was just in the middle of something, that's all."

"Really? What were you doing?"

"I was working, Miku, ok?" Another bout of silence. Mikuo could hear the muted sound of a knife hitting a cutting board, whack, whack. His wife was making dinner, probably the same grilled leeks she prepared every night. "Miku?" he said, "Miku? Hello?"

Whack. "I'm here. I was just thinking how funny it is."

Whack, whack.

Mikuo swallowed hard and pulled at his tie. "How funny what is?"

"You said that you're working. It must be pretty hard for an accountant to get any work done while sitting on top of the Yamaha Apartment Complex."

Now it was Mikuo's turn to be silent. His blue eyes widened like saucers, his mouth hung slack and his mind was blank. Then a feeling, she was watching him. Instantly, he looked to the sky, searching for her voice, her face, her piercing eyes that always seemed to bore right through him. "How," he started, "how do you know where I am?"

Another whack as her knife sliced right through a wilted leek. "A good wife always knows where her husband is."

Mikuo gritted his teeth. Now he was angry. "Answer the question, Miku. This isn't funny. Are you tracking me or something?"

No response.

He leapt to his feet, almost tumbling off the rooftop in the process. The phone threatened to break beneath his shaking hand, strands of blue hair stuck to his sweating forehead. "Miku, I'm serious. Are-you-tracking-me?" he said slowly.

A disgruntled sigh came through the receiver. "Maybe."

"That's disgusting!" Mikuo shrieked. "You hear me? Disgusting, disgusting! What's wrong with you?"

"I just need to know, that's all," Miku said. "Where you are, what you're doing, I need to know at all times. I have to be careful; you could be like Kaito for all I know."

"Like Kaito?" Mikuo repeated, his voice ripe with anger. He started pacing around the rooftop, kicking discarded cans, pulling at his hair, grinding his teeth. He let out an animalistic roar. "So now you're comparing me to your ex, is that it? I'm nothing like him; I've done everything to prove how much I love you, Miku! I've tried so hard, but it's never been enough. Lately, you've been acting like you don't even know me…or trust me."

"I don't trust you, Mikuo."

Miku's words slammed into him like a freight train. He stopped pacing, falling to his knees on the dirty concrete. The blue raindrops started to fall faster, and soon he was drenched. "You don't..." he whimpered, "How can you not?" A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Have you been taking your medicine, honey?" he asked gently. "You would have never said that to me if—"

"I don't need it!" his wife suddenly screamed. "You just want to get me all drugged up so you can go out, so you can cheat on me!"

"Oh, Miku." Tears brimmed in the corner of his eyes. "I would never—"

"Yes you would! You're just like him! And I don't need those pills, alright? I don't need them, I am not crazy!"

WHACK! Mikuo fell backwards at the sound of the knife striking the telephone. There came a few strings of inaudible screaming, then a mess of static, and then nothing. Miku had cut the house phone to pieces.

"She's insane," Mikuo breathed. "Out of her mind." How could she compare him to her rotten ex-husband? He was nothing like Kaito. He was kind and smart and trustworthy. _Miku doesn't think so_, said a voice inside his head.

"Shut up," he snapped. "She's just having a bad day. She hasn't been taking her meds."

_And she'll never take them again_, the voice said again. _Come one, man, you know it's true. Her mother told you before she died, "Make sure Miku always takes her medication. As a mother, it's been so hard. I've tried helping her, but nothing works. She needs the medication, Mikuo. She needs it. Without it, you will lose her._

"And so I have," he muttered. "She's never coming back." All of those years of struggle, taking her to the doctor, dealing with her fits of rage, waiting for her to come back to him with a smile on her tired face, all of it had been for nothing. Whenever she had been in a state of tranquility, she had looked so beautiful. Her eyes had sparkled, her long hair had shifted every time she moved, her lips had tasted so sweet…

Mikuo drew his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his knees. Tears, mixed with raindrops, poured down his face. He cried as the shower became a thunderstorm, crashing and shrieking overhead like some relentless sea. The wind lashed his face and salt-rimmed eyes. It felt like the whole world was tearing apart.

Rain fell, thunder boomed, lightning flashed, and somehow, Mikuo found himself standing at the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the city street below. He could just let his body go limp and topple to the ground. He could close his eyes and never have to open them again. He could hear the air rushing through his ears for the last time and then find silence, nothing but pure silence for the rest of eternity. Then Miku wouldn't have to worry, she would know where he was at all times.

He took a tentative step forward, balancing on the balls of his feet.

_A good wife always knows where her husband is_…

Yes, that's right. She would always know where he was…six feet under in a heavy wooden box.

"She'll be happier," he said with a smile. Then he stepped off the side and fell into thin air.

As he fell, he remembered a song he once heard, one about jumping into a nuclear reactor. But in his mind, he did not hear the typical adolescent girl voice; he heard a slightly older one, a sweeter voice that rolled its r's sometimes and sounded so real and exotic. An almost opera-esque way of singing, so clear and beautiful.

For some reason, he thought of a Latin phrase, _Aria Planetes_, open space. He wanted to say, 'your voice is beautiful,' but couldn't. The gravity sucked the air from his lungs, pushed his tears up into his eyes, blinding him. His tongue wouldn't move, his vocal chords were constricted like a noose.

Oh well, so he would die in silence. _Who cares?_ He thought. Nobody would mind if he died, Miku certainly wouldn't care. Everything would be better for her if he just vanished.

A few lines from that song appeared in his thoughts…

_A morning without me will be much more wonderful than now…where everything is in gear…_

_So true._ Everything would be better, so much better, the blue would be bluer, the trees would be greener, and Miku would finally be at peace…

Whack! Mikuo's body suddenly collided with something he could not see. It was like the sound of Miku's knife slicing through the air, but it couldn't be that. He was falling through nothing, how could a knife have stopped him?

Whatever it was, it was hard enough to knock the wind out of him, yet soft enough to absorb the impact. Something like taunt plastic or material. He bounced up and down like a child on a trampoline, hearing his blood pounding in his ears, then rolled off an incline and hit the sidewalk.

He lay for a few seconds, hazy and half-conscious, but still alive.

_I'm alive,_ he said sadly to himself. _I'm awake and I feel pain. I didn't die. I can't even kill myself the right way._

Mikuo felt the tears sliding down his cheek. How high had the building been? What had saved him?

_Saved me, yeah right._

Slowly, he opened his eyes. At first, all he saw was a blur of shapes and colors. Circles of light growing and fading like dying stars. Then the universe expanded and it all came into focus. Upside down raindrops struck his face, lightning still forked in the gray sky. There was the complex, four stories high. And there was the 'savior' a red and white striped awning rippling in the breeze. Not high enough, that had been the problem. Why didn't he think? Why didn't he go to the bridge instead?

_I'm an idiot. I don't deserve to live, I don't deserve to die. _

"Everything's falling apart," he mumbled.

It was a lost summer. The blue sky and burning sun had melted away. Pain was creeping into his limbs. He could feel the bruises blossoming on his pale skin. Blood trickled down his chin, down his face, it pooled on the white concrete. He was like a melting glacier.

All around him, voices were shouting. People seemed to materialize out of thin air. Rushing footsteps, yelling, raindrops hitting the asphalt.

"Help! Help! Somebody call 911!"

"He just fell out of the sky!"

A warm hand touched Mikuo's arm. Another, and another, and then another warm hand. He was being poked and prodded by curious fingers. _Leave me alone!_ he shouted inside his head. But they wouldn't stop. Pinching and nudging, touching, stabbing, just like Miku's knife. And then a torrent of memories flooded his brain. Miku's face, her smile, them sitting together under a starry sky, riding bikes together, eating ice cream, lying in one another's embrace as they drifted off to sleep.

The force of all of these subjugated memories was intolerable, but Mikuo kept his teeth shut tight, more and more blood spilling from his mouth. His body shook, his bones trembling and his DNA splitting. They were all unzipped and reorganized, his molecular makeup being destroyed before his very eyes.

A stray piece of pinkish-blonde hair landed quietly in front of his face, and she was there. Her hands lifted his face, her eyes growing large like two blue orbs floating in the darkness. "You ok?" she muttered, and he started as he realized that she was not Miku, she was the voice from that song.

All of the hands invading his body seemed to fade away. The girl on front of him was kneeling in a pool of his blood. Her long hair was becoming tinged with scarlet.

The pink skirt and black shirt that hung below her shoulders, the calm eyes and beautiful face, that's all Mikuo saw.

"Can you stand?" she asked. He nodded heavily.

The girl turned to the hands that were still there, no matter what Mikuo thought, and said, "I'll take him to the hospital."

There was a murmur of consent, and the 'oh-so-concerned' Good Samaritans left the bleeding man lying in the street.

"People are like that," the girl said, offering up her hand. "Come on." She pulled him to his feet and watched as his eyelashes fluttered. "Need a moment?"

"Yeah," Mikuo mumbled. He shook his head, trying to get the world to stand still for a moment. The city was spinning, his cuts were bleeding, but besides that, he was all right. Somehow, he had landed in the 'perfect' spot, suffering no more than a few cracked ribs and some lacerations.

"It looked so far down from up there," he said to the girl. She smiled weakly and nodded.

"It usually does." Her voice was light and sweet, and somehow strong.

"Do I know you?"

Her eyes, blue like his, stared straight his face. "I work at the music store you shop at. The one called My Soul, Your Beats. I've seen you in there with your wife…" She trailed off, her face turning red.

Mikuo smiled sadly. "Yeah, my wife."

"But, I haven't seen you there in a while. We got some new CD's, a new stereo system; I think you'd like them."

"Yeah, I think I would," he said, and then collapsed into her un-expecting arms, the darkness finally settling over his eyes. The last thing he saw before he fell unconscious was the glowing blush that was creeping up the sides of the girl's face, finally reaching her brilliant blue eyes.

The sky was blue again when Mikuo finally awoke. Bright, clear sunbeams filtered through the plastic blinds in the apartment, falling across his face in horizontal stripes of light and shadow. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust.

There was a stillness that permeated every part of the tiny apartment. A fan spun quietly overhead like a passing cloud, a single drop of water fell from the leaky faucet every few seconds, creating a rhythm that got Mikuo's head swaying. Outside, a bird was singing a song, a tale of the tree that he called home.

_This room is so bright_, Mikuo thought. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, wanting to see more. The sunlight became blurry for a second, but then it rematerialized, clearer than ever. The pain he had felt before was ebbing away like the receding ocean tide. Looking down, he noticed the bandages wrapped around his hands and arms. There was one on his face too, covering the place where the awning had first struck him. It felt soft beneath his fingertips. A faint smile flashed across his face.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back against the pillows, reveling in the fact that he did not smell the overwhelming odor of grilled leeks. In fact, he smelled nothing at all. What a difference, to sit in a clean apartment with an infinite supply of light, vibrant air that tasted sweet on his tongue. He sighed, letting his eyelids droop. The sunlight made him tired.

Two butterflies, both blue in color, were playing outside, tumbling together in the summer breeze. Mikuo saw them through the window, feeling a bit of joy well up inside of him. This place was like magic, taking away all of his fears and frantic thoughts, leaving his mind empty, calm, and clear. Why was everything so visible in this apartment, like he was looking through a pair of special lenses? Every image was so sharp and photographic; he felt that his eyes were seeing for the first time.

He brought his hand to the windowpane, touching the translucent glass and wondering how anything could be so perfect. The pair of butterflies landed opposite his fingertips and rested in the digits' long shadows. Each set of azure wings flickered restlessly. They longed to take to the skies, to fly like meteors through the atmosphere.

"Go on," Mikuo urged softly. "Be free; run away, it's more than I can do."

"Oh, you're up. Hooray." A quiet voice came floating across the room.

Mikuo turned and saw her standing there, the voice from the song. Her hair, which looked more blonde in the sunlight, almost touched the floor. Two braids were pulled in front of her chest, tied by pink ribbons. There was the pink skirt, the black half-shirt that fell down her shoulders. Mikuo stared at her, unsure of what to say.

"Um, thank you for helping me," he finally said. She bowed her head.

"You don't have to thank me for doing the right thing," she replied. "So, how are you feeling? Ok?"

"Yes, much better, thank you."

She smiled. "That's good. You were really lucky, you know."

Mikuo tried to echo her slight smile, but couldn't. He turned his eyes back to the windowpane. "Yeah," he muttered, "lucky."

"What's your name, anyways?"

Mikuo jumped. Her voice was so close. When he turned his head, he found her sitting next to him, legs tucked under her lithe body, pale hands curled into fists, bunching up the white sheets beneath them. Her face, full of inquisitive thoughts, was fixed on him, those big blue eyes wide with curiosity.

"I'm Mikuo," he said.

"My name is IA." She reached for his hand, hesitating before she finally grabbed hold of it. "It's very nice to meet you, Mikuo."

He smiled and IA blushed, quickly tearing her hand away and turning to look at a stack of CD's in the corner. "Are you hungry, thirsty, Mikuo?"

"A little bit of both." He was just now noticing how dry his throat was and how weak he felt.

IA's face lit up. "Ok then, I know just the place. Come on." She ran over to the little table she usually ate breakfast at, and grabbed a backpack and a pair of earphones.

"Wait, we're going out?"

IA slowly pulled the straps of her backpack, yanking it up to her shoulder blades. "Yeah, I mean, if you want to," she said, her eyes cast down.

"No, no, no!" Mikuo said, waving his hands while getting out of the bed. "Don't be sad, I want to go. I was just wondering. Let's go, let's go right now!"

She laughed, and Mikuo decided he had never heard a more beautiful melody.

Once they were outside, heading down the stairs that led to the street, Mikuo's moment of bliss faded. His despair returned in full force as he caught sight of the hundreds of tall buildings. He pictured himself falling graciously off one, wind-milling violently off the other. This new found habit, imagining himself dead, was even more addictive than nicotine.

"Here."

He started, IA's soft voice tearing him away from his thoughts. They were walking down a street he had never seen, surrounded by city life. People talking on cell phones, hailing cabs, arguing, bartering, little children running through the alleys in their little self-made gangs. Signs were everywhere, the bloody red of a stoplight screamed at him from the middle of the road. He took a step towards the stoplight's call.

"Here," IA said again.

"What?"

She was holding a package of cigarettes, shaking it so that its contents rolled around like pencils inside a case. "Take one; get your mind off things."

"You don't mind if I smoke?"

IA shrugged. "Not really, my father used to smoke all the time. Now come on we're almost there."

Mikuo was grateful for the warm cigarette clenched between his teeth. His lighter had been smashed by yesterday's fall, so he just held it in his mouth, flameless.

After a few more minutes, they came upon a quaint restaurant tucked besides an office building and yet another apartment complex.

He read the sign, "Café Latte. Hmm, sounds good."

"Cute, right?" IA said. "It's my favorite place to go after class."

Mikuo furrowed his eyebrows. _No,_ he thought, _she can't be that young. She lives alone, she makes her own money._ His heart was beating faster and his collar suddenly felt too tight. IA couldn't be a child, not after the way she had held his hand, smiled at him, blushed when he had smiled back. She had be at least in her twenties, right?

"Class?" he managed to ask, his voice cracking.

"Yeah," she replied. "I go to the Alphabeat College of Music and Art."

For the first time since the jump, Mikuo genuinely smiled. "So you're in college, then?"

IA nodded, pulling one of her braids forward. "It's my third year." She looked suspiciously up at him. "Wait, did you think I was in high school or something?"

"No, no! It's just that, you look really young, that's it."

A playful smile danced across her lips. "Well thanks, but I'm twenty one. I've been out of high school for a while."

Mikuo laughed awkwardly. "Hey we're almost the same age! I'm twenty three."

"A, uh, lucky coincidence." The fierce red blush returned, so she turned her back to him and walked into the café.

A bell tingled when she opened the door. The two of them stood in line, Mikuo chewing on his unlit cigarette, IA standing with her earphones on, music leaking out like water from a melting glacier.

"What are you listening to?" Mikuo asked, leaning over so that his head was hovering over her shoulder. IA flinched ever the slightest and offered him one of the ear buds.

"Here, listen."

A young girl was singing about not being able to take off a cursed pair of glasses. She sounded awfully familiar.

"I've heard her before. She's one of those child celebrities or whatever. What is she, like fourteen?"

"Her name is Rin Kagamine," IA said, scrolling through the rest of her songs. "She's really talented." Her voice suddenly became very quiet, "I wish I could sing like her."

"I think you're voice is ever better than hers," Mikuo said before he could stop himself.

IA's finger paused in midair, suspended over the play button. Mikuo did a mental face slap.

"When have you heard me sing?"

"Uh…" He didn't know what to say. What was he going to tell her, that he had heard her sweet voice as he attempted to commit suicide? But that couldn't have been the first time; he must have heard her before. She had said that she worked at My Soul, Your Beats, the music store with the neon sign shaped like a beating heart. A day was forming in his mind, an early summer's afternoon. The hot wind had been blowing crumpled paper down the street…

Mikuo walked up to the store, alone, went inside, and wandered pointlessly down the aisles of records and CDs. There was a certain album he was searching for, so went to the back room without thinking, and heard a voice. A sweet, clear, opera-esque that sometimes rolled its r's. A few strands of straight blonde hair, shaded pink, were visible through the crack in the door that had a plaque on it reading, "Employees Only".

"Can I help you, sir?" A stern voice said. So unlike the soft one coming from behind the door.

"Uh, yeah. I was just looking for the restroom."

"Uh-huh," the voice continued, unconvinced. "I'm sure you were, sir. Now why don't you just pay for that record and leave before I get upset?"

The coins were still spinning on the counter when Mikuo left, sprinting across the road and almost getting run over by a car in the process...

_If only I had gotten run over_.

"Mikuo? Mikuo, you ok?"

"Huh?" He looked up, remembering where he was and what he was doing. He looked down at IA. "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

"Ok, good. So, when have you heard me sing?"

Mikuo groaned, shoved his hands into his pockets, and did a stupid kind of spin, shaking his head as he did so. "IA, can't you just let it go?"

"Come on. Tell me…please?"

He sighed heavily. "Fine. I went into your music store one day and I accidentally heard you singing. I wasn't spying or anything, I just wanted to find this album and there were no other employees around besides that mean manager of yours. So, yeah, it was an accident." The whole time he had been explaining his story, he hadn't been looking at IA. But when he glanced down at her, she was laughing. He gasped. "What did I say?"

"So that was you!" she exclaimed, smiling. "My manager told me that some creeper had been spying on me. Turns out it was you!" She braced her arms against her thighs, laughing even harder.

"Creeper…" Mikuo muttered. "What a jerk…never liked that guy."

"Don't worry about it," IA said. "I don't think you're a creeper at all. Actually, you're kinda—"

"One chai tea latte for Mikuo!" the woman at the counter shouted.

IA turned red and ran her fingers through her hair. "That's yours. Better, you know, get it before it gets cold."

Mikuo started to say something, but just ended up nodding instead. "Right."

He grabbed his drink, completely oblivious to the once-over the woman at the counter was giving him. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, everything else eluded him, the crying of a child, the sound of a hit and miss accident outside in the street, the coffee cup that fell and burst open on the tile. An old man behind him fell to his knees, trying to mop up the mess with a pile of napkins.

A few warm drops were sliding down Mikuo's face. He looked down and noticed that the entire right arm of his jacket was drenched in strong, sweet smelling coffee.

"I'm so sorry!" the old man on the floor said. "It was an accident, honestly. Were you burned? Are you clothes all right?"

"It's all good," Mikuo replied with a sigh. "It was an accident, after all. Here, why don't I help you?"

"T-thank you, son."

"Yeah, no problem." Kneeling down beside the old man, Mikuo took a couple of napkins out of the wrinkled, shaking hands and mopped up the rest. The empty cup rolled wordlessly across the tile, the streams of coffee settling in the grout. The way the drops fell, how they curved down the side of the cup and fell with a faint plopping sound, it reminded him of the faucet in IA's kitchen, the leaky one that dripped. He stopped cleaning for a moment, holding the soggy napkin between his fingers, letting the coffee form rivers that flowed down his wrist.

Then the old man coughed beside him, and he remembered the task at hand. After the floor was clean, still sticky, but nevertheless clean, the old man got to his feet.

"Thanks again, son," he said, shaking Mikuo's hand. "Not many people would have the patience to help an old man like me." He chuckled and coughed simultaneously, then tipped his hat and left, the bell clanging as he departed.

Mikuo smiled and stood up, taking a moment to look at the stain on his sleeve.

_It's not so bad. I'll just have to get it dry cleaned or something…_

He suddenly remembered that IA was still here. His blue eyes darted around the café, searching for that beautiful blonde hair. Instead, he found her eyes, bluer than ever, but slightly squinted, as if she were trying to hold back tears. He walked slowly across the sticky tile, holding his cold latte, the smile fading from his face.

_What's wrong? _ he thought. _What did I do?_

Stopping in front of her, he looked down into her bleary eyes. Wisps of hair fell across her face, sticking to her barely parted lips. The Styrofoam cup in her hand, its contents unknown, shivered as a ripple of emotion went up her spine. The blush was creeping back into her white cheeks as she stared up at him.

"Mikuo," she breathed, "what you did for that man…you're so sweet." A few tears fell from her gorgeous, depthless eyes and disappeared into the open air. "You are such a sweet man, Mikuo."

She gently placed her hand on his neck, pulling his face towards her. The drops of coffee had not yet dried on his skin, so, with the smallest hesitation, she licked them off with her soft, pink tongue.

Mikuo shuddered, his eyes going wide. His latte almost fell out of his hand.

The licks turned into kisses; IA kissed his cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose. She tightened her grip on his neck, pulling him closer.

Her lips were inches from his mouth, but his body was frozen.

There was a fan spinning overhead. The air pushed by its blades tousled IA's hair. It sent the pink-tinged locks forward, enveloping Mikuo in a beautiful cocoon of clarity and light. And her hair smelled so good, so fragrant and wonderful.

A stray piece alighted on Mikuo's face, and he gasped. He pulled IA forward, the latte crashing to the floor, and their lips finally met. He had been right, her lips tasted so sweet, like pure sugar on his tongue. He wound his arm around her small waist, picked her up, and spun her around in a wide circle, still kissing those saccharine lips. His mind was filled with warm, syrupy light, his heart pounded next to hers.

Once they broke away, gasping, he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest. "You feel it?"

"Yeah," she whispered. Now she took his hand. "There, can you feel mine?"

He nodded stupidly. Mikuo could definitely feel the heart beating beneath her pale skin. His fingers curled, crinkling her black shirt, and pulled her back in.

IA rested her head against his chest, clutching his coffee-stained sleeve with her left hand. Mikuo placed his chin atop her head and closed his blue eyes. They stayed in that sweet embrace until the manager came huffing towards them.

_That's funny, I forgot there were other people here_, Mikuo said to himself.

"You two! I don't know what you're doing, but you need to clean up that coffee right now. You can't go messin' up people's restaurants and not expect to pay the price!"

"Of course," Mikuo said, feigning seriousness. "Our apologies, sir."

IA burst out laughing, hiding her face in Mikuo's jacket. The manager mumbled something about 'irresponsible kids' and walked away. No one else in the café seemed to have noticed anything. A few turned their heads, but that was all.

Mikuo didn't care, though. His smile was genuine and long-lasting as he and IA cleaned up the spilled latte.

When they were finished, they ran out of the café, holding hands and laughing.

_But you have a wife,_ a voice told him. _You're a married man. She's a college student. Do you know what you're doing?_

He looked askance at IA, the voice from that song, and saw something he had never seen in Miku, his future. Her blonde hair flew every which way in the fading summer wind, her skin glowed beneath the setting sun, and her eyes were like pieces of a blue eternity sky. Her hand felt warm, interlocked with his. They were like those two butterflies tumbling through the breeze. He heard her musical laughter and smiled.

_I know exactly what I'm doing_, he told the voice. _My wife is lost in the past, IA is my future now._

The voice said nothing; it just sighed and floated away.

The last of summer was coming; Mikuo would not let it go to waste. He squeezed IA's hand tighter, and they ran off, back to that little apartment with the leaky faucet. And she sang for him as they ran, a beautiful song about days yet to come.

_ Before I knew it, I took off running…pulled along by your hand…Yesterday so distant and tomorrow so close…Naturally, it made my heart leap._


End file.
